Kite. Why, sir?
Plume. Because I will have nobody in my company that can write; a fellow that can write, can draw petitions—I say this minute discharge him.
Kite. And what shall I do with the parson?
Plume. Can he write?
Kite. Hum? he plays rarely upon the fiddle.
Plume. Keep him, by all means—But how stands the country affected? were the people pleased with the news of my coming to town?
Kite. Sir, the mob are so pleased with your honour, and the justices and better sort of people, are so delighted with me, that we shall soon do your business——But, sir, you have got a recruit here, that you little think of.
Plume. Who?
Kite. One that you beat up for the last time you were in the country. You remember your old friend Molly, at the Castle?
Plume. She's not with child, I hope?